Shooting with Broken Arrows
by Glitterberryy
Summary: Her lower lip trembled slightly, chin wobbled and eyes glassed over as they filled with water that she tried to blink away. "It's Elliot, Liv. He's...gone." Set during s16ish. Olivia finally has to deal with Elliot's departure.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: So this has been sitting around collecting dust on my computer for a while now.**

 **Because we all want our two fave's to reunite.**

 **I will try to post as often as I can, but some chapters are unfinished and others are just...well...shocking.**

 **Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.**

 **I apologise for any timeline/continuity mistakes.**

 **Please read and review!**

 **GB**

 **xox**

* * *

 **1**

Sergeant Olivia Benson sat at the heavy walnut desk, a pen poised in her right hand, hovering, as she stared down at the blank, stark sheet that should have been filled with her messy scrawl by now, detailing and summarising the case they'd all been slogging their guts to build over the past three weeks.

She closed her eyes and leaned forward on her elbow, fingers pinching the bride of her nose as images of the beaten three year old flowed through her mind, haunting, torturing, leaving her name, Molly Baker, imprinted somewhere in her memory, etched into the deepest parts of her mind, scaring for life.

 _Everything_ , she decided, _changes the moment you become a parent yourself._

Olivia inhaled deeply; an attempt at cleansing herself as the exhaustion that had been chasing her for the week finally begun to catch up with her, grabbing hold of her ageing body, sinking in bone deep and fogging her mind; an unneeded encumbrance as she tried to dredge a coherent thought from the depths of her brain. It was nights like these – when her body ached and she longed for a glass of wine, for a home cooked dinner and the comfort of her bed – that she missed being _Detective_ Benson.

Olivia had been the commanding officer of the Special Victims Unit for few months, following Lieutenant Murphy's unforeseen departure, which wasn't very long in considering the span of her whole career, but it had been long enough for her to learn that the ever-growing mound of paperwork sitting on her desk never ceased to pile up, that the new role showed no leniency for an overworked, sleep deprived, single, new mother.

She sighed, dropping the pen down onto the awaiting form, and flexed her stiff fingers, before she reached up to rub softly at her tired eyes, smearing mascara and smudging eyeliner. She swiped a hand over her face as a haphazard attempt to correct the mess, and brought it down to settle over her mouth as she tried, and failed, to suppress a yawn.

The soft tap-tapping of knuckles against the wooden door frame nudges at Olivia's attention, and she lifted her head to bring pink-tinged, watery eyes up to meet Nick Amaro's.

"Hey," she greeted, stretching out her sore spine, then resting back in the large, office chair.

"Still here?" he asked rhetorically, stepping through into the office, one thumb hooked over the gun holstered at his hip, whilst the other scratched at his neck. Olivia offered a knowing smile and nodded lazily.

"Paperwork doesn't do itself." She gestured to the stack of forms spread in front of her, at the reports waiting for her to sign off.

"Anything I can help you with?" Amaro offered as he dropped into one of the visitors chairs, body slouching comfortably.

"Not tonight," Olivia declined as she glanced down at her watch, and then out into the dimly lit, quiet squad room. "The others head out?"

"Yeah, about an hour ago."

"We should probably follow suit," Benson sighed, because it was already past eight, her eyes were stinging and she felt the need for a long soak in a hot tub. "Don't you have Zara this weekend?"

"Maria cancelled," Nick said dismissively, as if it wasn't the third time this month. "Zara's got some party down in DC on Saturday that she can't miss."

"I'm sorry, Nick."

"It's okay," he replied, waving a hand through the air to dissolve Benson's sympathy as he threw a quick glance over his shoulder at the still open office door. He shifted a little in the seat, and Olivia's brow dipped a little, creasing her forehead, her eyes narrowed as she studied her partner, trying to get a read on his body language. He was tense, his hands fidgeted – fingers worked at a loose thread at the knee of his pants, nails scratched at his thick eyebrows, he rubbed at his eye, his nose. Olivia slipped the incomplete report into the manilla case file and added it to the top of the pile, before getting to her feet and moving around the large desk so she could lean against the front edge of it.

"Nick," she began, softly, encouragingly, as she folded her arms across her chest and dipped her head to catch his gaze, "Speak to me."

"Uh," he hesitated, "I don't know where to start." He ran a hand over his mouth – skin over day old stubble – and Olivia could see a silent war waging behind stormy pupils.

"The beginning is always a good place to start."

"Yeah," Amaro agreed. He got up and skirted around the chair, the soles of his shoes quiet as he moved to close the door for privacy, before stepping over to stand before the large window overlooking the still bull pen.

 _This is it_ , Olivia thought as she watched the Detective's back, his muscle tense under the cream button down shirt, _this is what it's like to have someone quit on you._

Benson waited, patiently – a skill she'd learned well over the sixteen odd years of working with sex offenders, abusers and their victims—and she wondered if the unit could take another hit, could survive another loss, another change; if they could adjust to yet another modification to the structure of the team, or if this would would be their breaking point, enough to tip the barely balanced scales of Manhattan's SVU. She wondered if Amaro's resignation would result in the shattering of the squad – _her_ squad – fragmenting the unit that had proven, over and over again, to work harder and better, than any other division in any other police department. Introducing Carisi to the mix had been hard enough, Olivia wasn't confident that they could all take the impact of Nick's sudden departure, too.

It only took a few moments of silence - a minute at most - and then Nick was taking a deep lungful of air and turning back to face her.

Four brown orbs locked onto each other.

"Okay," he sighed, breaking the silence. "So, uh, I know how you feel about this sort of thing; that personal lives should be kept personal; at home and out of the precinct. Which I get, by the way. It makes prefect sense; conflict of interest and all that." He paused his awkward rambling, eyeing her as if he's waiting for her approval to continue. She nodded once, a slow motion, as she tried to keep her brows from knitting together in confusion. Nick stalled, chewing the inside of his cheek thoughtfully, seemingly studying Benson's reaction to the information he still hadn't disclosed yet. He took another breath, and there was a swirling in the pit of Olivia's stomach as she watched the spark in Amaro's eyes dim, his shoulders square, jaw set determinedly, almost defiantly; a fast transition that she was used to seeing before he conducted an interrogation with a suspect.

"We have chemistry, right?" he questioned with a new confidence, steadiness, taking a small step closer as he pointed between their bodies.

"Well," Olivia began, slightly thrown by the question. Her arms unfolded, hands dropped to grip the edge of her desk.

"I know we've had a few minor, teething problems in the past, but I think we're okay now, right? We work well together, because we've...clicked," he continued, without giving her a chance to answer his seemingly rhetorical questions. "It's something that just happened, we had no control over it."

"Sure," she nodded, agreeing, albeit hesitantly.

"We're basically in a work marriage- at least, that's what Maria says – and she's not half wrong, because we know everything about each other. Well... _almost_ everything," Nick said, and Olivia was starting to feel a little uncomfortable at the suggestion of their closeness. Maybe that was the point, maybe Amaro had decided they're _too_ close, which was something that she'd tried to avoid, afraid of making the same mistake twice. Maybe he didn't want to quit, maybe he just wanted a new partner, and because she cared enough, understood, Olivia would have given that to him, should he ask.

"I'm also your boss, so if you're worried we're -"

"Exactly," he breathed, sounding relieved, "Which is why I thought we should wait-"

" _We_?"

"Yeah, Amanda wanted to tell you a few months ago -"

"Rollins?" She couldn't keep her brows from pulling together this time, as she tried to piece the puzzle together, match the small fragments of information together.

Suddenly, it all clicked into place.

She had suspected it for a few weeks now, but she hadn't said anything, brought it to the pair of Detectives, because it wasn't something she fancied bringing up at 1PP. And besides, though she didn't condone interoffice relationships – because they had never worked out for her in the past – what she didn't know (or in this case, have confirmed) couldn't hurt her.

Or them.

"Yeah, we've been -"

"Nick," she quickly cut him off, hands raised to halt him as she moved to stand before him. "Whatever you are about to tell me; don't."

"But -"

"No, listen to me," she commanded. "Whatever it is that you're dying to get off your chest, I don't want to know, okay? As long as whatever it is is kept out of the precinct, I don't care. Your personal life stays personal, got it?" She held his eyes for a moment, sternly, willing him to understand, for him to realise that she knew, that that is enough right now. A tongue flicked out and wiped across his lips, and then he was nodding, his posture softening, eyes warming again.

"Okay, Sarge. Got it."

Olivia breathed a sigh of relief, the corners of her mouth pulling upward slightly.

"Great," she said, "So if that was all, we should get out of here. If I'm lucky, I'll make it home for Noah's bath time." If she did, it would have been the first time that week.

Olivia crossed the office and unhooked her navy blue coat from the stand, draped it over her forearm and reached for the large black purse dangling on the hook below.

"How is the little bruiser?" Amaro asked, smiling, because he liked seeing Olivia's glow whenever the small, unexpected boy got mentioned; whenever she looked like a proud Mom.

"He's doing great," she beamed, as she opened her bag and plunged her hand into it, losing her arm up to her elbow, rummaging around as she searched for her keys. "Cutting a molar, but considering everything he's already been through, it's nothing he can't handle."

"Zara was a nightmare when she was teething," he chuckled fondly, eyes reflecting a distant memory. "I used to come to work just to get some sleep."

"It's not easy," Olivia agreed, pulling her hand from her purse, a mangle of metal and plastic clutched in her fist. "Do you need a ride?" She turned and started toward the door, swiping her glasses from the desk as she moved.

"No, I'm good, thanks."

"Okay," she said, reaching for the door handle, "Well, I'll see -" Her words came to an abrupt halt as she opened the office door. The blonde stood before her looked almost startled, her fist raised as if she was just about to knock, her eyes slightly wide, body angled back. Aquamarine orbs caught hold of Olivia's, the facets of the oceanic pupils sparking against the soft glow of the quiet squad room. Benson gripped her bunch of keys so tightly, she was sure the metal was cutting through the skin of her palm. It had been years since she'd last seen her – at least three or four – but there was absolutely no mistaking the identity of the woman standing before her, just shy of the threshold.

"Kathy."

It was hoarse, almost a whisper, because the shock of seeing the wife of her ex-partner was still squeezing her throat, pressing on her chest. There was a small, barely-there nod, as if she needed to confirm who she was, but it was not until Amaro stepped up beside Olivia, his arm brushing against hers, that she began to shake herself from the haze of surprise.

"Hey, everything okay?" he asked, and he sounded concerned enough, but Olivia had worked with him long enough to know when his mind was elsewhere. She looked at him, and he was watching her out of the corner of his eye, even as he addressed the middle-aged blonde blocking their exit.

"I need to speak with Olivia," Kathy replied, her eyes staying trained on Benson, and there was an intensity there that raised goosebumps across Olivia's skin.

Amaro turned to face her, his brow furrowed slightly, but even without the details, she knew his concern was misplaced.

"Liv?"

She cleared her throat, shook her head a little as she tried to silence the questions racing around her head; _Why is she here? What's wrong? Is everything okay? Why me? What have I done? What has she done? Are the kids okay? Is she hurt? Is_ He _hurt?_

She shifted herself into her professional persona by way of self-preservation.

"Yeah," she answered Amaro, with a small head tilt, her gaze dropping as she scanned Kathy Stabler's body, searching for any indication of assault, whether sexual or otherwise. There was nothing; no torn clothing, no blood, no bruises, no cuts or grazes.

There was a silent sigh of relief.

"Kathy, what are you doing here?" she finally asked, her voice shaking only a little.

"Uh," she stalled, as if uncomfortable. "I need to speak with you."

"Okay," Olivia glanced around her office, as if checking for something, before stepping aside, leaving enough room for Kathy to pass between her and Amaro. Amaro took a small step back, widening the gap, his attention focused on Benson.

"Want me to stay?" he asked Olivia. She glanced at Kathy, noticed the way her shoulder tensed at the suggestion of the Detective baring witness to whatever it is that she wished to disclose to Benson, so she turned back to her partner, shook her head softly.

"No, it's okay, Nick. You can go home."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow," she dismissed, and it was almost more for her own sake than Kathy's that she didn't have him there. The smile she forced onto her mouth seemed to be just enough to convince him to leave her. "But, uh, can you do me a favour? Could you call Lucy -"

"Of course," Nick nods, before she could finish her request because he'd already planned to put the call in to Noah's nanny on Olivia's behalf.

"Thanks, Nick," she said appreciatively, and he nodded, accepting her gratitude silently, before stepping out of the office. She watched him for a second – just long enough to see him grab his coat from the back of his desk chair and pull his cellphone from his pants' pocket as he rounded the corner for the elevators.

She turned back to the room, to the woman she'd never expected to see again.

"Take a seat," Olivia said as she closed the door, before tossing her bag and coat on the couch under the interoffice window, and then moving over to join Kathy in one of the visitors chairs.

"I'm sorry," Kathy said, quietly, her hands fidgeting with the sleeve of her coat, "I know it's late and you were heading home."

"Don't apologise," Olivia hushed, and again, she was silently searching for traces of assault. "Did something happen? Has someone hurt you?"

"What?" The blonde's eyes widen. "No! _God,_ no." She shook her head, brushed the loose strands of hair back from her face. "It's not...I'm not..." she hesitated, took a breath, and even though she was already sitting in the office, Olivia could see that Kathy was struggling with the decision to come here. "It's not _me_."

"Okay," Olivia nodded, straightening her back as she allowed herself to take in the woman before her. The last time she'd seen Kathy was at the Stabler home, on a hot July day, in 2011. She'd had to pick Elliot up for work, because his car was in the shop, and he'd overslept, and Eli was sick so Kathy had needed a ride to the doctor's office, too. It seemed a lifetime ago, but time had treated her well, because Kathy looked exactly the same as she did back then; her hair was shorter with a few more strands of silver, and she'd put on a couple of pounds, but she looked healthy, happy. At least, she would have if she wasn't chewing at the inside of her cheek, if her hands weren't fiddling in her lap, if her eyes weren't looking at everything but Olivia.

"You can tell me," Olivia prompted.

"Huh." Kathy released a huff of air, cleared her throat, and shifted in the chair to face Olivia, their eyes finally meeting. Her lower lip trembled slightly, chin wobbled and eyes glassed over as they filled with water that she tried to blink away. "It's Elliot, Liv. He's...gone."


	2. Chapter 2

**2**

" _It's Elliot, Liv. He's...gone."_

"Gone?" Olivia echoed, her forehead creased as puzzlement began to shape her features. "What do you mean, 'he's gone'?"

Kathy rubbed a hand over her face, swiping away a trail of salty tears, and inhaled a shaky breath.

"I mean," she said, hoarsely, smoothing damp palms over the grey cotton leggings covering her thighs, "He's _gone_. We had an argument last night at dinner, and when I dropped by the apartment this morning, he wasn't there and the closet was empty."

"Okay," Olivia nodded, and she tried to keep the relief from her voice that the news wasn't of the worst kind, that he was, at least, alive. "You said 'apartment'? Not the house?"

"He rents a small place in the city," Kathy explained. "We moved to Florida a couple of years ago, but I guess a part of Elliot couldn't let go. When things got…difficult...the city would bring him solace in a way that neither I nor the kids could."

Olivia nodded, before getting up and reaching across her desk, grabbing at the box of tissues she kept stocked for emotional visitors. She offered one to Kathy, and she took one.

"Can I ask what the fight was about?" she probed, eyes darting to the interview pad and pen next to the laptop, wondering if perhaps she should have been taking notes. She quickly decided against it.

"It was stupid. Kathleen wants to move back to New York with her fiancé, but Elliot doesn't think it's a good idea. He's worried she's going to have a BPD relapse or something."

"Surely he knows that the chances are small, so long as she's taking her meds -?"

"She's not," Kathy interrupts. "She hasn't been medicated for a few weeks, but she's doing really well. Greg's really good for her. Not that Elliot would know that."

Olivia's eyebrow flicked as concern for the second eldest Stabler stirred. She'd been there when Kathleen had received her diagnosis, had been a witness to the extreme and dangerous behaviours. It wouldn't make sense for her to stop taking the medication that offered mental stability, unless…

"She's pregnant?"

Kathy nodded, smiling. "Thirteen weeks; my first grandchild."

"Congratulations," Olivia smiled. "And does her Dad know?"

"No," the blonde shook her head gently, fingers playing with the scrunched Kleenex in her hand. "He's only just wrapped his head around the engagement. We thought it would be best to wait a while. Elliot's not so great with change lately."

Olivia nodded, understanding, and her eyes dropped to Kathy's hands, and they're so obviously naked, void of any glinting gold bands, that she wondered how she hadn't noticed before.

"You're not wearing your ring."

Kathy glanced down at her ring finger, her thumb automatically bending to play with a band that wasn't there.

"Elliot and I divorced two years ago," she said.

"I'm so sorry, Kathy."

"It's okay. It was amicable. We had a good run." She offered a watery smile. "I thought that once he had left this place, we'd go back to the way we were; when we were young and reckless and madly in love."

"But it didn't?"

Kathy shook her head and shrugged one shoulder as she cast a glance around the office. "When we didn't have this place to fight over, we managed to find other things. Things are better now, but we still can't seem to agree on custody agreements for Eli; it's gotten worse since he met Calvin, my partner."

"He doesn't like him?"

"Elliot doesn't like _anyone_ any more." Kathy straightened in her chair. "I don't know if it was working the job, or leaving the job, but something changed him. He's...tortured."

"Kathy, he left after a pretty horrific incident. It would have changed the best of us. Shooting a child is not something anyone, least of all a father, can forget."

"I know," Kathy nodded, sighing softly. "I forced him into therapy for a bit – and we all know Elliot's opinion on shrinks – but he refused to go after she diagnosed him with PTSD. He said she didn't know what she was talking about."

"Sounds tough," Benson said sympathetically, as she twisted her wrist subtly, just enough to get a glimpse of the face of her watch. It was already eight forty-five, and she felt the weight of guilt drop into her stomach as she realised that not only had Lucy run over an hour into overtime, but she'd missed Noah's bath and bed time, _again_.

"I'm sorry, it's getting late," Kathy apologised, her eyes following Olivia's to the Breitling secured around her wrist; an extravagant gift from a good friend. "I didn't mean to keep you."

"It's fine," Olivia replied, the words falling from her automatically; a phrase that took little consideration these days.

"I should get going, anyway," Kathy said. "I left Calvin waiting in the car downstairs." She stood, sniffing quietly, but swayed a little, her hand reaching out to steady herself against the arm of the chair she'd just been sitting in. She squeezed her eyes closed, halted her breathing.

"Woah, hey," Olivia said, immediately getting to her feet too, her hands reaching out to support the wavering blonde. "Are you okay?"

Kathy answered with a small nod, though she didn't open her eyes for a few more seconds, but when she did, it was married with the sound of a gentle, relieved exhale.

"I'm good," she said, and though her face is deathly pale and voice small, she straightens, standing tall.

"Are you sure?" Olivia asked, releasing her grip on the Stabler's shoulder, and slowly backing up a little, unconvinced.

"I just stood too quickly," Kathy explained, weakly, and cleared her throat before stepping around the chair, heading for the office door. "I just need to eat something and get some sleep; which I can do now that I know you're going to help me."

"Of course," Benson nodded. "I'll write up the report, send it over to Missing Persons -"

"Missing Persons?" Kathy cut Olivia off, her eyebrows pulling together as if she was confused. "But I came to _you_ , not a random Detective over in an overworked, understaffed department that has no idea who Elliot Stabler even is."

"I know," Olivia nodded, "But I just don't feel that I'm the right person -"

"Of course you are," Kathy scoffed. "This _is_ still SVU, right? Isn't that what you do? Find people when they could be in trouble?"

"Yes, when there is a special victim involved," Benson explained, taking a step toward the other woman, her hands clasped together as if she was silently pleading for Kathy to understand. "But in this case, there's not."

"Are you kidding me?" Kathy flashed, the blue of her irises darkening slightly, just like _His_ used to. Olivia swallowed. "He's one of you! What part of that _doesn't_ make him special?"

"Yes, he was," Olivia said softly, gingerly, trying to extinguish the atmosphere that was beginning to smoulder between them. "But -"

"I don't believe this."

"Kathy, please -"

"If you wont help me, get me someone that will," Kathy ordered, her jaw setting defiantly. "Get me Cragen. He's in charge around here, right? He'll help."

"I'm sorry, Kathy, but Don's gone. This is my squad now."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Kathy snapped, eyes narrowing. "So that's it, then? You just don't care any more?"

"No, I-"

"It's because you're still bitter, isn't it?" she jeered, poking an angered finger in Olivia's direction.

"I am not bitter," Olivia defended, and her heart skipped a beat at her own lie.

"Of course you are. You wont look for Elliot because you're still angry about his retirement. It all makes perfect since, actually."

"No." Olivia squared her shoulders, straightened her back, dropped her hands to her side.

"Oh, fuck off, Olivia," Kathy said. "I can see it in your eyes. I'd have to be blind not to. I was stupid for even considering coming here."

"Kathy -"

" _God_ , you haven't even said his name once since I've been here," the blonde continued, a hand running over her mouth once, twice, whilst Olivia tried not to flinch, tried not to give in to the accusations her ex-partner's ex-wife was trying to wound her with. "Can you even say it?"

Olivia clenched her teeth together behind sealed lips, tried her hardest to keep her gaze steady, tried to stop the blonde's words from penetrating through the wall she'd spent months building after Stabler's sudden departure, and weeks reinforcing after the time she'd spent with William Lewis.

"Say it, Olivia," Kathy challenged. "Elliot Stabler; say it!" Her voice raised just enough to catch the attention of the hovering Uni's in the almost deserted squad room, and Olivia knew she'd be the focus of the gossip tomorrow.

"Okay, Kathy, you need to calm down," Olivia ordered, hands raised in an attempt to placate the fiery blonde shut in the small office with her, but all she could focus on are those eyes; so cold and so full of heat, so familiar and haunting.

"You have no idea, do you?" Kathy said, eyes widening as if she was only just realising something, and though she was no longer yelling, she wasn't exactly keeping her voice down, either, and Olivia had no doubt that the uniformed man navigating himself around the paper-ridden desks in the dimly lit bullpen was catching the gist of the conversation. "Do you think it was all sunshine and daisies after he left here? After he left _you?_ "

"No, I-"

"Because it wasn't. After he handed in his papers, he lost himself. He quit bothering; with me, with the kids. It was like he had nothing left, nothing to get up for. Like he'd resigned from life."

"I can't imagine-"Olivia began, but Kathy took another step toward her, jabbing her finger at the thick air between them, cutting her off.

"He started drinking, did you know that?" A perfectly plucked brow raised. "It started off with a bourbon before bed, but before we knew it, it was a bourbon for breakfast, lunch and dinner, too. Elliot Stabler; an alcoholic!" Kathy ran a hand over her hair, and took a deep breath, seemingly trying to compose herself. "He _hates_ alcoholism and everything it stands for, which of course meant he ended up hating himself – which made him drink even more, by the way."

"I didn't know," Olivia breathed, the shock of Kathy's disclosure slamming into her.

"Of course you didn't," Kathy snapped, "Because you're too busy standing here, in this fucking office, feeling too damned sorry for yourself to care about anyone else. _Boo-hoo_ , Elliot Stabler left poor Olivia-fucking-Benson to fend for herself, with her perfect job, her perfect home and her perfect friends."

"Kathy," Olivia began, the hairs on her arm bristling at the suggestion she'd had it easy since Stabler left her.

William Lewis' sadistic grin flashed through Benson's mind, and she suppressed a shudder.

"You're acting as if _he's_ the one that abandoned _you_ , but where the fuck were you when it was all going to shit for him, huh? Where the fuck were you when he was lying face down, in his own vomit, on the kitchen floor? Where the Hell were you, Olivia, when he couldn't even drag himself out of bed in the morning? Because you sure as Hell weren't there!" Kathy said, bluntly, angrily, accusatory. " _You_ didn't show up for _him_. You didn't stop by; not even once. Twelve years, Olivia. Twelve years of me losing my husband to you, day in and day out. Twelve years of pretending it was me that he was in love with, that it was me that he wanted. Twelve years of him choosing you, over and over again. You were together for twelve fucking years, and when he _needed you_ , dammit, you didn't show up for him."

"I tried calling him," Olivia said, her voice as small as the ex-Stabler had made her feel, and even to her own ears, the excuse was pathetic against the raw honesty of the blonde's words. "He didn't want to see me."

Kathy shook her head, took a shaky breath. "He didn't want to see anyone, but he needed it."

"I thought he wanted a clean break from all of this." Olivia opened her arms, signifying not just the office, but the entire precinct, her own eyes misting up at the thought of a passed out, drunk Elliot. " _I tried calling."_

"Well, it wasn't enough," Kathy said, and whilst her tone was as hard as her narrowed eyes, her breathing had started to even out and her words held little heat. She sighed, rolling her eyes. "Not that any of that matters now. Calvin and I pooled together the little money we had and put him through rehab."

"He's sober?"

"He was," Kathy nodded, and then her lower lip trembled slightly, her eyes mist. "But what if he's drinking again, Liv? What if he's out there, somewhere, all alone and lying face down -"

"Hey," Olivia cut her off, her hand reaching out to rest on Kathy's arm; a reassuring gesture. "I'll find him, okay? I promise, I'll handle this myself."

"You will?"

"Yes, but you have to stay positive, okay?"

Kathy chewed the inside of her cheek as she regarded Olivia, pausing before answering as if she was considering the offer, as if there was a choice to make.

"I'll try," she nodded eventually, wiping at her eyes again, taking a deep breath. "Thank you, Liv."

Olivia nodded, clenching her fists to hide her own shaking hands. "I'll need details; his last known address, contact number, a list of friends..."

"Of course, I have that." Kathy dipped her hand into the pocket of her thick, camel coat. "Here," she said, as she pulled a piece of paper that had been folded at least twice and held it out for Benson to take. She did. "My cell's on there, too, so call me when you've found him."

"I will," Olivia promised, her fingers running along the seams of the paper, with no intention of opening it; she wasn't quite ready to see the details she'd been avoiding for the past three years. "Now we both need to go home and get some sleep."

"Of course," Kathy nodded. "Just, please, don't tell the kids. I don't want them to worry..."

"Not a problem. I'll keep this between us, I promise," Benson said as she moved over to the couch and picked up her coat. "I'll call you as soon as I know something, okay?" IT wasn't a question, more of a dismissal, as she slipped her arms into the coat and the slip of paper into her bag.

Kathy nodded once, before offering a half smile and a small nod, before heading for the door. She turned back - a glance over her shoulder - as her hand gripped the door handle. "Oh, Olivia, heres some advice, from one ex-wife to the other; Don't expect to find the Elliot you once knew. He's different, now. Dark. Twisted."

Olivia swallowed and nodded, and then Kathy disappeared out of the small room, the clacking of her heels fading out as she cut through the squad room and rounded the corner for the elevators.

Olivia waited for five minutes, trying and failing to stop her body vibrating, her legs from shaking, and then she left, too.

 ***SVU***

Olivia woke, slowly easing from her dreams into reality, roused by the soft whimpering that echoed through the glowing baby monitor. Her eyes flicked to the clock on her night stand, her hopes of going through the night undisturbed instantly dashed as she read 4:03am.

She untangled herself from the sheet she'd wrapped herself in, dragged her heavy, tired body into an upright position, and waited for three breaths, praying silently that Noah would suddenly master the art of self-soothing, that he would drift back off into a land of fluffy marshmallow clouds and dancing unicorns. The whimpers turned into wails, though, the green light flashed to red, and she sighed, rubbed a hand over her face and slid out of bed, padded across the bedroom sleepily, almost staggering, as she tried to force the fog of exhaustion far back enough to function properly.

Olivia slipped into the nursery she'd only just finished decorating, and the crying instantly stopped the moment Noah's eyes landed on her, the comfort being her presence. She smiled at him, because even with sleep deprivation, she couldn't bring herself to be angry at her disturbed slumber. She approached the crib, peered down into sleepy, brown eyes that rolled the instant she placed her hand gently on his belly, when she began shushing and stroking his hair, and she realised that these intimate moments are far better than any fractured dreams she may have had.

When he eyes had closed, and didn't reopen, and his breathing had turned shallow and rhythmic, she reached over and turned on the musical light projector, illuminating the room in the soft glow of luminous stars and plants that were projected on his ceiling. She stood for an immeasurable amount of time at his bedside, watching the baby – _her_ baby – sleep, his brown locks tousled and brow seriously creased as he concentrated on something out of Olivia's reach. She leaned forward, brushed her lips across his forehead, barely touching, and whispered 'I love you', before she retreated from the nursery silently, closing the door softly behind her.

She stood in the dark hallway, rubbing at her burning eyes, all thoughts of sleep pushes back as her body began to wake; an old habit dying hard. She moved back into her bedroom, dropped down onto the mattress and stared up at the shadows darkening her ceiling.

She waited.

For what, she wasn't sure. Maybe for sleep to return and drag her back, or maybe for Noah to start crying again, or maybe she was just waiting for nothing. Olivia sighed, throwing an arm over her face as she tried to will herself to let go of reality, to fall back to fantasies. But instead she was plagued with the memory of Kathy's earlier visit; her red rimmed eyes, her wet cheeks, worried lips how she'd almost collapsed under the fear of Elliot returning to alcohol.

 _Elliot Stabler; The Alcoholic._

Olivia sat up, inhaling deeply as she tried to force images of her ex-partner intoxicated and depressed from her head, because she'd been perfectly content imagining him happy, somewhere far away with his wife, with his kids; somewhere so far away from his previous life that she didn't have to worry about their paths crossing. She had been comfortable being angry with him, comfortable hating his choices, the way he'd treated her, the way he'd ended things.

She was, most definitely, not comfortable with knowing that he, in fact, suffered too.

Olivia sighed, cursing her continually active mind, as she got out of bed, grabbed her robe from the wardrobe, and headed out of her bedroom as she slipped it on, securing it tightly at the waist with the satin belt.

She was waiting for the kettle to boil when the banging started on the apartment door, startling her. One hand flew to her throat as the other clutched the kitchen counter top, fingers pressed against the unforgiving marble. Her jugular thrummed beneath her fingertips as her eyes flicked to the timer on the oven, and it was still before five am. She waited, barely breathing, just in case she'd imagine it, in case she'd slipped back into one of her nightmares; the ones that had been haunting her less and less, but still came when she least expected, or needed, them.

 _Bang! Bang! Bang!_

Olivia jumped again at the persistent, firm pounding, her nails digging into her neck slightly, and she wondered who would be calling at this hour without actually _calling_ her first.

She took a shaky breath, grounding herself as she pulled one of the knives from the stainless steel knife block she'd bought years ago; the movement swift. The blade was a comfortable and familiar weight in her hand as she cut through the living room, bare feet over laminate flooring, her therapists words echoing through her head with each footfall.

 _You're safe now, Olivia. He can't hurt you._

The soft whimpers that resonated through the baby monitor extension sitting atop the sideboard encouraged her to pick up her pace, to get to the door before the intruder began his banging again.

She leaned forward, one palm pressed flat against the cool wood to steady her as she peered through the small spyhole, and she felt the panic and fear ebb away the second she laid eyes on the person responsible for the audacious knocking.

Her forehead creased with confusion as she hurried to unhook the short, brass chain, and unlock the three security bolts she'd had fitted when she'd moved in. She pulled open the door, just enough for her to confirm he was who she thought he was, to peek through a sliver of a gap, but then she was pulling it open further, the knife still poised at her hip, ready to strike; in and up – a fatal blow.

"Elliot?"

"Hey, Liv," Elliot Stabler greeted, his mouth twitching up into a sheepish, lopsided grin. "Did I wake you?"

"No," she shook her head, "I-I couldn't sleep." She moved her free hand to her chest and pulled the edges of her robe together, holding them there.

"Can I come in?" Elliot asked, his azure eyes left hers to see over her head, to peer into the apartment behind her.

"Uh," she stalled, because Noah was back there, and she wasn't entirely sure that she was ready, or willing, to share that part of her life with someone that so easily walked out of it. "It's early, Elliot."

"I know," he nodded, and his face was blank, as if he wasn't understanding her reservations. "So can I come in?"

Olivia stared at him for a moment, her eyes trailing over his face, down over his white shirt and black pants, and he looked exactly the same as the last time she'd seen him, in the squad room, wearing Jenna's blood.

Something stirred in the pit of her stomach.

"Wait," she said, "How do you know where I liv-"

"William Lewis told me," Elliot said, his head listing to the side slightly, eyes locking back onto hers, sending a shiver up her spine.

"W-what?" Olivia stammered, her heart seizing, throat tightening as panic set in. Fear twisted her stomach.

"He said I'd know what to do," Elliot continued as he took a step forward, toward Olivia. Heart in her throat, Olivia matched his stride, moving back, further into her apartment, her home. The knife fell from her hand as she lost any last remnants of bravery she may have had after her last experience with Lewis. Her eyes flicked to the blade as it clattered noisily against the flooring, sliding away from her, under the sideboard. She forced her eyes back up to meet Elliot's.

But they weren't Elliot's.

They were _his_. They were Lewis'.

He was here, in her new home, and it was about to happen all over again.

Olivia screamed.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Here's the next chapter. I'm working two doubles for the next two days so I doubt ch4 will be up before Thursday.**

 **Please read and review.**

 **GB.**

 **xox**

* * *

 **3**

Olivia woke with a start, her legs twisted up in the bedsheets, her skin drenched in a cold sweat. Her heart hammered behind sternum, threatening to cave in her chest, as panic inched its way up her spine, leaving an ice cold trail of dread in its wake. It took a moment – a long one of gasping breaths as she tried to fill aching lungs with oxygen – before recognition began to filter through the haze that was smothering her brain, but it wasn't until she had managed to kick herself from the cotton restraints that she really begun to take control and calm her frenzied mind.

 _She's okay._

 _She survived._

 _He can't hurt her._

Once the overwhelming sense of fear has receded back to where it came from, and her breathing was somewhat normal, she swung her legs over the side of the mattress and swiped a hand across her face, wiping the beads of sweat from her skin. She'd apparently slept through the first alarm set, because the alarm clock read as 08:09, and the muffled noises of movement coming from the living room told Olivia that Lucy had already arrived to spend the day with Noah, despite the long hours she'd put in these past few weeks. She checked her phone for message, hands shaking only slightly, and finds three missed calls from Amaro; two from last night and one from this morning. It was a Saturday, a rare day off for her squad, so she assumed he was calling to follow up on her unexpected visitor last night. She tossed the phone onto the bed – Amaro's curiosity could wait – and paused for a second as she listened to the baby monitor; Lucy was signing nursery rhymes to Noah as she got him dressed, and he gurgled along with her. Olivia smiled. She didn't think she would ever be sitting and listening to her baby laugh, despite how desperately she'd wanted it.

Olivia forced herself to get up; her clothes were damp and clinging to her body uncomfortably, and headed for the adjoining bathroom, needing to wash away the stain of her nightmare.

She waited until the water was steaming hot, misting up the mirror and hazing the chrome fixtures, before peeling the clothes from her body and stepping into the cubicle; a habit she'd only formed over the past year or so. Showering used to be something she enjoyed; feeling the jets of hot water stream over her body, working out the kinks in her muscles and relaxing the tension. But now it was just a reminder; her body a map of the torture she had had to endure for just shy of ninety-six hours. No matter how hard she tried not to look, to see the devastation he'd left behind, she knew the scars were there, and though the bruising had long faded into nothing, on the long and stressful days, she could still feel the ache of healed rib fractures and a broken wrist.

It wasn't until she'd dressed herself, dried her hair and put on enough make-up to hide the evidence of a long run of haunted dreams and fractured sleep, that she emerged from her bedroom, ready to face the world.

She's surprised to find the apartment still, quiet, when she stepped out from her bedroom. The nursery door was wide open, the room empty, and though the coffee machine whirred away, brewing a pot of Olivia's favourite coffee, the living room and kitchen was abandoned. Olivia moved over to the seating area, where a piece of paper folded in half, with her name scrawled on it, stood, propped on the coffee table. She swiped it up, read the short note addressed to her in Lucy's handwriting.

 _Olivia._

 _We're out of Noah's favourite cereal. Headed to the store._

 _Will probably stop at the park, too._

 _Lucy ( & Noah)_

 _x_

The soft knocking on the apartment door startled Olivia into dropping the sheet of paper onto the floor, her hand automatically reaching for a gun she hadn't gotten out of the safe yet. She shook her head slightly, chastising herself for being so jumpy, then picked up the paper and tossed it onto the coffee table, next to yesterday's newspaper that she still hadn't read yet, and headed over to the door, just in time for a second round of knocking.

She unlocked the only lock active, and cracked open the door slowly at first, and then pulled it wide when she caught a glimpse of her partner standing in the communal hallway.

"Nick? What are you doing here?" she asked, clearing her throat quietly.

"I was just heading to the precinct," he shrugged his shoulders. "And I wanted to check in on you. I tried calling."

"It's your day off," she reminded him, stepping aside to invite him inside. "And I know. I'm sorry, I forgot to call you back." She closed the door after him and lead the way through to the kitchen, where she pulled open the cupboard and grabbed two mugs, placed them down in front of the machine. "Coffee?"

Nick shook his head, declining the drink. "Where's Noah?"

"Lucy's taken him to the store. And possibly the park, too," she replied, pouring the black, steaming liquid into one of the mugs, before returning the pot to the machine and switching it off.

"So is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine," she said, uneasily, as if he could sense she wasn't being completely honest. "Kathy's an old...friend. She's just got herself into a bit of trouble with parking tickets. Thought I could help her out."

"Right," Amaro said, and he sounded unconvinced.

"Yeah, guess she thought I had some sort of pull, or something," Olivia continued, before taking a mouthful of the hot liquid, burning her mouth. She swallowed. "Anyway, I was just going to head into the office, do some paperwork..."

"Want a ride?"

"Thanks, Nick, but you don't need -"

"I was heading in anyway. I want to make sure we've dotted our i's and crossed our t's on the Baker case."

"You think we've missed something?" Olivia asked, because they'd been pretty thorough with the case, and the suspect had eventually folded when Fin and Rollins went in on him for the third interrogation.

"I just..." he faltered, and a hand reached up to rub at the back of his neck. "I dunno. Something doesn't sit right with me."

"Nick, if you're too close to this -" Olivia started, sympathetically, because the victim had a dangerous resemblance to his daughter, despite the age difference. And if she could see the similarities, she sure as heck knew he could, too.

"No, I'm fine," he defended. "I just want to make sure we've covered everything, that he's going to go down for this." He shifted his weight onto one foot and leaned against the counter, shoving his hands deep into his pants pockets. "I just have this... _feeling_."

"Okay, so we'll call the others in and we'll review the files," Olivia said, because if there was one thing she trusted, it was her team's instincts. Nick regarded her for a moment, before nodding and straightening his stance.

"Okay, well, there's no time like the present," he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "You coming?"

"Yeah," Olivia nodded, because she didn't really like driving in the city and avoided it when she could. "I'll just grab my gun and coat."

It wasn't until they were halfway to the precinct that Olivia asked Nick for a detour, pulling the sheet of paper from her bag and giving it to him to input the address into the navigation system.

 **SVU**

Olivia stared up at the brick-face apartment block. The light shower of rain had done little to remove the grime that had been building for probably as many years as she'd been alive, if not more. The building had weathered with age; the window bars that were once a glossy black were rusty – the paint blistering and lifting off – and the windows had a thick layer of street dirt blanketing the panes of glass, concealing any movement from the occupants inside.

Olivia tore her eyes away from the residence, averted her gaze back down to the creased piece of paper in her hands to double check the details, that they had found the right address.

"Liv? You sure you don't want me to-" Amaro, sitting beside her, behind the wheel, pulled her from the depths of her mind. She looked up at him, shaking her head no, cutting his offer short.

"I'm fine," she insisted. "I won't be long. I've just got to check in on someone. I'll only be a few minutes."

"Okay," Amaro nodded, though the way his forehead creased slightly, and his eyes narrowed suspiciously, she could tell her wasn't entirely convinced. "I'll go and pick us up some coffee, and call the others so we can get started as soon as we get back to the precinct."

"Yeah, okay," she agreed, one hand reaching for the door handle, the paper clutched tightly in the other. "Make mine a green tea," she said, and pulled the lever. The lock clicked and the door opened.

"Green tea; got it," Amaro repeated. "Pick you up in twenty?"

"Thanks Nick." Olivia stepped out of the car, peering up at the windows as she closed the door behind her. She wondered, breifly, if he was standing at one of them, if he could see her. If he would feel physically sick at the thought of them coming face to face again after all these years, just like she did. She turned on her heel, bent down to the window and Amaro rolled it down halfway. "Actually, I'll just grab a cab back. You go ahead."

"Liv-"

"It's fine. I'm fine. I'll see you later," she half ordered, before straightening herself and heading for the entrance, before Amaro could argue.

The communal entrance door was old; once a brilliant red that was now more wood than paint, and it groaned loudly as Olivia pushed it open, and again when it swung closed behind her. She made her way along the hall, her feet tapping noisily against the crooked tiling, the sound echoing off of the chipped, nicotine-yellow walls as she checked each apartment door, counting down the numbers until she found it; 7A.

She glanced down at Kathy's scrawl again, before shoving the paper back into her jacket pocket. She balled her fist and rapped her knuckles against the apartment door.

She was startled when the door swung open– because she hadn't expected anybody to actually answer, had expected she'd have had to use the key under the 'welcome' mat to let herself in.

"Yeah?" A small man, round and balding, sweaty, scruffy, looked at Olivia. His dark eyes trailed unashamedly from her face, down to her shoes, and back again.

"I'm sorry," Olivia apologised, pulling the worn piece of paper from her pocket to check the address for the hundredth time. "I'm looking for someone..."

"Hey, you and me both, Sweetcheeks," the occupant winked, revealing stained, chipped teeth in the process. He wiped a sweaty palm over his grubby, off-white vest top that was at least one size too small for his bulging stomach.

"I think I have the wrong number," Olivia continued, brushing off his sleazy remark. "His name's Stabler. Do you know him?"

"Why?" The guy's eyes narrowed and he scratched at his cheek. "What's he done?"

"Nothing," Olivia shook her head. "I'm trying to locate Mr. Stabler for his family. They're worried about his welfare."

"Well, you ain't gonna find him 'ere."

"So you do know him, Mr…?"

"You can call me Joey," he said, leaning against the door frame, eyes falling from Olivia's, down to her chest. He flicked a tongue across his lips before returning his gaze. Olivia suppressed a shudder. "And yeah, I know Stabler. Used to rent this place." Joey jerked his head backward, nodding to the apartment behind him.

"He doesn't any more?"

"Nah, he took off a few days ago. Paid up until the end of the month." Joey shrugged. "I just came to straighten up the place, but guy's done me a favour; left it pretty tidy in there."

Olivia shoved her hands into her coat pockets, gaze narrowed. "He's cleared out? Did he say where he was going?"

"Look, Princess, I respect my tenants privacy, and they respect mine. That's just how it is around here, capisce?" Joey bristled, his large arms folding over the swell of his belly, eyes tightening defensively.

"It's Sergeant, actually," Olivia corrected, taking a step closer to the repugnant landlord as she brushed her coat aside to reveal the golden badge clipped to her belt. "You wouldn't mind me taking a look around in there, would you?"

"Gotta warrant?"

"Really?" She raised a brow in disbelief, watching as Joey's eyes shift, harden slightly; defiant. "You're going to make me turn around, walk back out of here, travel all the way over to Manhattan where I have to harrass a tired and overworked judge, just to search one of your vacant apartments?" Olivia tilted her head to side slightly, studying the man before her. "From my experience, that's usually what guilty people do. Are _you_ guilty of something, Joey?"

"Hey, I ain't shifty, alright?" he defended, though the sweat beading on his upper lip and the way his tongue swiped out of his mouth, told Olivia that he was hiding something. "But seein' as you asked so nice, I'll co-operate. But I want it written down somewhere that I ain't resisting."

"Of course," Olivia lied. "I'll only be a few minutes."

"Take all the time you need, Lady," Joey said, waving a hand at her as he stepped out of the doorway, into the hall. A pungent waft of body odour, stale cigarettes and bad breath assaulted Olivia's nostrils. She swallowed, fought to keep a straight face.

"Thank you."

"Just make sure you lock up when you leave. You can drop the key off at number 4; that's my place," he winked, as he dangled a set of three keys from his short, stumpy index finger. Olivia forced a smile onto her lips, took the keys and nodded.

"I will," she promised, with no intention of upholding it, before heading into the apartment and closing the door quickly behind her.

 **SVU**

There was a confident banging of knuckles against wood, grabbing hold of Olivia's attention as she emerged from the empty bedroom, where even the bed was stripped as bare as the closet. Her brow creased as she wondered who would be calling; if Elliot had perhaps been expecting a visitor, or if the sleazeball landlord had decided he wanted that warrant, after all. Or if he'd decided he needed to be present to oversee the search she was carrying out in the small abode that had not so long ago been the home of someone she had once classed as a friend; the very best of. She made her way across the small living area, where the small sofa and coffee table dominated the space, her fingers deftly unhooking the clip of her holster. With her hand resting on the gun, ready to draw, she grabbed the handle of the door. Keeping her face straight, despite the pounding in her chest, she twisted the brass knob and yanked open the lightweight door.

She blinked, any irritation diminished as she stared at the man before her.

"Fin?"

He nodded once, a small movement as if she needed him to confirm who he was, that he was actually there, but offered nothing more as he pushed his hands deeper into his jacket, the gold chain around his neck glinting in the little light filtering in through the window behind Olivia. Her brow slipped, forehead creased, as confusion settled in. She stepped aside, arm spread to welcome him in. He accepted, silently, and stepped over the threshold, into the furnished living space. He moved around the couch before turning to face Olivia.

She closed the door, quietly.

"Amaro called," he explained, taking his hands from his pockets so he can fold his arms across his chest.

"Right," she said, moving further into the room, the sound of her heels hushed by the thin, balding carpet beneath their feet.

"He said you were checking on a friend. I was already in the area so I thought I'd drop by," he continued, his gaze breaking from hers as he cast his eyes around the living room; over the tatty green couch, the stack of unopened mail on the chipped coffee table, the bare kitchen counter tops in the far corner. "Looks like Stabler's checked out."

"Wait, you knew he was living here?" Olivia questioned, the creases in her forehead deepening. She folded her arms defensively, as she moved over to stand in front of the dusty mantle.

"We stayed in touch," Fin nodded, and his eyes softened apologetically when he saw the hurt flit across Olivia's face.

"Of course you did," she breathed, and there was a stab of betrayal, jealousy, in her chest; enough to threaten tears. She blinked against the prickly mist in her eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath.

"I'm sorry, Liv," he offered, but she shook her head, refusing the apology, because it's not like he owed her one. She wasn't even mad at him, or at Stabler for that matter, and she couldn't blame either for wanting to stay friends outside of the one-six; they'd worked together almost daily for a decade, for Heaven's sake. It just hurt, made her chest ache, feel heavy, because _they_ were the ones that were supposed to be partners; for better or worse – his promise to her.

"It's fine," she lied, the corner of her mouth tugging up into a reassuring smile, even if she didn't believe it. "I don't suppose he happened to tell you where he was headed to, before he took off?"

She knew, even before he parted his lips to reply, what his answer was, because his shoulders slumped slightly, his mouth slipped down.

"Nah, I thought he was still crashing here."

"Well," she tipped her head to the side as she scooped up the stack of mail again, and proceeded to flick through the envelopes. "He's not." She sighed, because the pile consisted of mainly junk and advertising, and the only two addressewd pieces are stamped with company logos, telling her that they're either bills or statements.

"What do you want with him, anyway?" Fin asked as he moved over to the window, and peered outside.

" _I_ don't want anything," she said, eyebrows arched a little. Fin shot her a sharp look and she rolled her eyes. "Apparently, he's decided to fall from the face of the Earth, _again_ , and Kathy is worried he's start..." She abruptly snapped her mouth closed, because she was unsure how much Fin knew about his old 'friend'. Because if he'd known the truth, known about Stabler's alcoholism, he's have told her, right? The cloud that darkened Fin's eyes told her that she was very much wrong. "You knew," she breathed the realisation.

After a long pause, he nodded. "Yeah, I knew."

"Of course you did," she said for the second time, and she was finding it hard to keep the rough edge of her tone as she moved into the kitchenette.

"I wanted to tell you, Liv," Fin said, taking a few steps in her direction, watching as she proceeded to yank open one of the two utensil drawers.

"But you didn't," she pointed out, slamming the empty drawer closed, the wood pounding against melamine panelling. She pulled open the second drawer and closed that one in the same fashion, because that one was empty, too.

"Elliot didn't want you to know."

"And at which point did you decide that he was capable of making his own decisions?" She asked heatedly, throwing a glance at Fin over her shoulder as she reached for the overhead cupboard. "When he was half-cut at breakfast? Or face down at dinner?"

"It wasn't my call to make. You know that."

Olivia sighed as she closed the cupboard door and ran a hand over her face as she attempted to compose herself. She turned back to one of her oldest friends, their police ranks left at the door.

"I know," she said quietly, apologetically, the heat dissipating. "I know it wasn't. I just….I should have been there for him, that's all." She glanced around her, disappointed that the landlord had been right; Stabler had left the small apartment tidy.

"Look, Elliot got sober. He ain't exactly the typical addict. He's probably just off clearing his head or something."

"So you're not worried?"

Fin hesitated, eyes small as he contemplated the question. "Let me help you find him," he eventually said.

"I don't even know where to start looking," Olivia confessed. "And I don't want this made official. Not yet."

She watched as Fin stepped forward, brow creased as he crouched down to pull a small piece of paper from under the refrigerator.

"How about Long Beach Island?" Fin asked, holding up the parking ticket. "Dated last Wednesday."

"Wait," Olivia said, moving toward the Detective to get a better look at the paper stub. "His mother lives out there. Maybe he went to see her."

"She might know where he's heading."

"Bernadette isn't exactly all there," Olivia smirked, glancing at her watch. "If I leave now, I might make it back by the end of shift. But the case..."

"Go," Fin insisted, gently. "Take the day. I've got our back."

"Are you sure?" Olivia asked, but she was already heading for the door. Fin nodded, following after her. "If you need anything..."

"I'm sure we'll manage," he said. "Take my wheels. I'll call Amaro for a ride." He plucked his keys from his pocket and tossed them, lightly, in Olivia's direction. She caught them, and returned the gesture with the apartment keys.

"Thank you, Fin," she said, offering a small smile, before heading out the door.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: So here's another instalment. I believe this is the last one I have saved, so I don't know when the next one will be. By the end of next week, though, I promise.**

 **Please read and review – they're what keep me driven to finish!**

 **Again, completel** **y unbeta'd, so any and all mistakes are my own.**

 **Gb.**

 **xox**

 **4**

It was typically a two hour journey from Manhattan to Long Beach Island on a day with good traffic flow and reasonable speeds. Olivia drove with the window rolled all of the way down, the New Jersey breeze crisp and cool as it whipped against her cheek and filled her lungs with fresh air that wouldn't have made it into Manhattan without being poisoned by inner city pollution.

She inhaled, deep and slow, as the sun shone through the windshield from above the endless row of tall trees – a blur of lush green as her foot pressed on the accelerator – warming exposed skin.

Her palms were clammy, her heart hammering anxiously, as she eventually neared her destination, following the computerized voice that spoke to her from her phone, directing her to the quiet street dusted in grains of sand blown from the quiet beach behind the houses. She hoped that she was wrong, that he wasn't there, that instead of having to face him for the first time in too many years, she would greet his mother, Bernie, and be told that she hadn't heard from her son, either. It was a selfish hope, one for her own self-preservation, but she didn't care. A part of her wasn't ready to face Elliot Stabler. A part of her never would be.

She pulled up next to a curb, put Tutuola's car into _park_ , and turned off the engine, before leaning her head back against the headrest. She let her eyes slide to the small beach house lined with lavender and honeysuckle, and other arrangements of plants that Olivia couldn't name. The smell that filtered through the still open window was delicate, beautiful, sweet and salty; the scent of Summer carried on the sea breeze. She watched the house for movement, and was a little relieved when she saw none.

Perhaps she would be lucky. Perhaps no one was home.

 _Feel the fear and do it anyway, Benson._

She took a steadying breath, opened the door and got out of the car, not bothering to close the window because she had no intention of staying. She did, however, lock the car remotely as she crossed the quiet road, and head down the rickety, paved path, her heels clacking loudly against the stone slabs.

She peered through the pane of glass in the front door, and still found no evidence that the homeowner is home. She tapped her knuckles, softly, against the wooden frame, and waited.

She was close to turning around and heading back to the car, calling Kathy and telling her that she was unable to help find her ex-husband, when she heard the familiar high-pitched voice echoing from somewhere inside.

"I'm coming! Coming!"

Olivia swallowed, glanced back at the vehicle and wondered if perhaps she should make a run for it; dash back to Fin's car and speed off before Bernadette had the chance to see her, greet her, invite her in. It was too late, though, because the silver haired woman was there, heading toward the door wearing a bright pink blouse and blue striped apron, wiping her brow with a dusty hand, leaving a smudge of something off-white across her forehead.

Blue-grey eyes met Olivia's through the glass, and Bernie smiled, her rosy cheeks plumping and laughter lines deepening.

"Detective Benson," Bernie greeted with a grin as she pulled open the door. "What a lovely surprise."

"Good morning, Mrs. Stabler," Olivia replied, holding her hand out professionally. "It's Sergeant now, actually."

"Well, how marvellous," she responded, batting Olivia's offered hand away and opening her arms for an embrace. Olivia stepped forward, uncomfortably, and wrapped her arms around the older woman. She patted her back, once, before pulling away and straightening her blazer. Olivia cleared her throat, a little relieved that Bernadette seemed oblivious to her awkwardness, eyes scanning inside, searching.

"Come in! Come in!" Bernie ushered, stepping aside to allow Olivia entry into the quaint home. She obliged, of course, her hands clutching the edges of her jacket as she walked through to the living room, eyes still scanning. She paused, just for a second, to admire the array of brightly coloured, freshly painted canvases balanced on easels.

Bernie glanced over her shoulder and motioned for Olivia to follow after her. "You're just in time for pancakes."

"Oh, no, thank you," Olivia declined, following closely behind as they walked through the sun room and into the small, white kitchen splattered with flour, egg and pancake batter overspilling the large mixing bowl. "I'm actually here on official business."

"Oh, darn it!" Bernie snapped, throwing a hand towel she'd just picked up back down onto the kitchen counter, her soft features hardening as she turned to face Olivia, her hands coming to rest at her hips. "What's Katie done this time?"

"No," Olivia quickly said, correcting the assumption. "No, Kathleen is fine. She hasn't done anything."

"Really?" Bernie questioned, her gaze narrowed as if she suspected Olivia wasn't being honest with her.

"Of course. I promise. I'm actually here on behalf of Kathy. She's concerned about your son -"

"Elliot?"

"Yes, have you seen him?"

"Of course I have," Bernie said, the ice melting from her eyes and face warming again, "He's outside planting some more lavender for me. It's very calming, did you know?"

"Yeah, sure, great. I'll just call Kath-"

"I'll call him in. He'd love to see you, I'm sure," Bernie offered, before tilting her head toward the open window above the kitchen sink and yelling, "Elliot! You've got a visitor."

"Oh, no, it's okay. You don't need to," Olivia said, because she didn't need to actually _see_ him to determine this case closed. All she needed to do now was make the call to Kathy, and the ex-wife could follow up herself.

"Don't be silly. He's always spoken so highly of you," Bernie continued, waving a hand in her direction, before shouting again. "Elliot! Get your behind in here!"

"No, really. It's fine," Olivia insisted, her pulse thrumming erratically as her heart rate began to kick it up a notch, the panic coursing through her veins as the realization that she was just a few moments away from colliding with her ex-partner slammed into her. Hard. "It was lovely to see you, though, Mrs. Stabler." Olivia offered a quick, genuine smile, and then she was turning on her heel and heading back the way she'd come, intent on getting back to her car without incident.

It was a damned hope, though, because the second she stepped into the sun room, the rear door swung open and _He_ stepped over the threshold.

She halted, the soles of her boots scuffing loudly against the wooden flooring. Her mouth dried and palms dampened as those familiar enchanting pools of blue met hers, instantly drawn to her as if they were magnetized, pulled together by the force of gravity. A force they were unable to fight.

For a second – a long, drawn out second – neither said anything, and Olivia wasn't entirely sure she was breathing. And then his tanned brow slipped into a frown, his lips parted, and he was saying her name just like he had every day for the many years they'd spent together.

"Liv?"

"Elliot."

It was the first time she'd actually said his name, and it was familiar and strange at the same time; like a long forgotten memory filtering back in fragments. At least, she noted, her voice sounded steadier than she felt.

"What are you doing here?" he asked her as he pulled a rag from the back pocket of the light blue, distressed jeans he was wearing, and wiped his dirty, soiled hands off, before swiping it across his glistening brow.

"Official business," Bernie answered for her, the older woman's sing-song voice breaking whatever spell was holding Olivia there, planted to the floor, unable to move her eyes from his. "Lemonade, Dear?"Bernadette held out a glass of freshly made juice, but despite the dry tongue and throat, Olivia shook her head, declining politely, because she just wanted to get out of there.

Elliot's brow furrowed a little more. "You're on the job?"

"I just came to see if you were okay," she answered, scratching at her eyebrow, fidgeting. "And I can see that you are, so..." she trailed off, her hand waving up and down as her eyes trailed over Stabler's body, as if to make sure that he didn't have a knife sticking out of his gut, or a GSW to the leg, or _something_.

He _did_ look okay. Better than, in fact.

Maybe it was because he seemed so relaxed in the ragged jeans and the red faded graphic tee, was comfortable with having his bare feet covered in dry sand and planting soil. And though he was older, he looked younger, and Olivia could only guess that it was because the lines etched in his face were from years, rather than the endless line of harrowing cases that used to haunt his dreams and taint his waking world.

"Thank you for the lemonade, Mrs. Stabler," Olivia said in place of a goodbye, though she hadn't so much as sipped the declined refreshment.

"Are you sure you don't want to stop for pancakes?" Bernadette asked as she moved back toward the kitchen, apparently oblivious to the tension mounting in the room.

"I really do have to go," Olivia affirmed, with a quick glance at her watch for everyone's benefit but her own. "I'm needed back at the precinct."

"Next time, then," the silver-haired lady smiled, her eyes sparkling. Olivia didn't accept the invitation, because she had no intention of ever returning to the beach house, so instead she offered another smile, albeit a small one, and uttered a quick goodbye.

She avoided Elliot's gaze as she cut through the sun room and into the living room, and though his bare feet padded stealthily, she could hear the rustle of denim, the frayed hem of the too-long legs sweeping over floorboards, following after her in heavy silence as she hurried for the door.

"Liv," he finally said, his voice strained, quiet, sounding almost desperate, like it was loaded with everything that she couldn't handle at that moment. She stopped short of her exit, sighed and turned to face him, her clammy hands coming to rest at her hips; one thumb looped through the clip of her gun holster, the other though a belt loop, his fingers almost framing her shield.

He stood a couple of feet away, fidgeting with the dirty rag in his hands as he watched her, brow tense as if he was deep in thought, trying to work out what he was going to say, how he was going to say it.

"Look, I'm just doing my job. And I'm done, so now I'm leaving," she said, afraid of what he might say, because she didn't want to hear it; because once it had been heard, it couldn't be unheard, and she'd spent so damn long being angry at him, hating him, she wasn't sure if she wanted that unravelled by him affirming Kathy's version of events. "And by the way," she added, her tone harsh, edgy, almost spiteful, "I know walking out on people without a word is your forte, but you may want to call Kathy back. She's been worried sick about you."

"Shit," Elliot breathed, his toned shoulders dropping, the weight of guilt apparently landing on him as he realised what he'd been putting his ex-wife through. Olivia reached for the door handle and pulled, allowing the sea breeze to slam into her as it rushed into the house, rustling her hair. Their eyes met and held each other, and she could feel her resolve slipping, the wall she'd spent years building beginning to bow, and she was so close to telling him how good he looked, with his sun kissed skin and well defined muscles, how (despite the initial problems he'd encountered with alcohol and his family) it seemed that retirement was treating him well, that her mouth opened and the words almost spilled out in a rush.

But she couldn't shake the memory of his empty desk, abandoned for her to clear, the way Cragen's brows had pulled together when he's informed Benson of Stabler's retirement because he wouldn't do it himself. She couldn't stop hearing the dead line and automated voice as she tried, and tried, and tried, to call his disconnected number.

So instead, she closed her mouth with a snap and said nothing.

She tore her eyes away from his expectant once, stepped over the threshold and slammed the door behind her, refusing to look back as she hurried up the path, her stride bolder than she felt. It wasn't until she was behind the wheel of the unfamiliar car, with her shades pulled down over her eyes, that she allowed the tears to fall.

It was typically a two hour drive from Long Beach Island to Manhattan, on a day with good traffic flow and reasonable speeds.

Olivia made it in just over half the time.

 **SVU**

Olivia stared down into the amber liquid, watched as it smoothed over melting chunks of ice, splashing against the sides of the tumbler as she swilled it around in the confines of the glass. She was in no hurry to toss the fiery liquid back, to ignite her body as the scotch splashes over her tongue and slides down her throat like hot treacle, because she was entranced by the dancing hues of gold and orange as the soft glow of the overhead lamp sliced through the liquor.

"You're too pretty to drink alone."

She looked up at the owner of the soft voice, the only other customer in the small, intimate bar. Her eyes locked onto his familiar sea green eyes, and she shook her head slightly, lips twitching into a smirk as she dropped her gaze back down to the drink cradled in her hand.

"I'm not 'drinking alone'." She shrugged a shoulder, before bringing the glass up to her lips to take a delicate sip, the salty smokiness of the blazed liquid tickling her tongue before she swallowed. "It's an exclusive party for one." e

"Well then," he said as he leaned against the ornate, oak bar, propping himself up on an elbow. "Shall we consider this party crashed?"

Olivia slid her eyes back to his, before dropping them to observe his appearance; the day, the week, had apparently been hard on him, too, because his usually crisp shirt was crumpled and creased, his top two buttons were undone, and his tie had been pulled so it hung loosely around his neck. She looked back up, to his stubbly face, to his ruffled hair, before settling back on tired eyes.

"Barba," she sighed, putting down her glass and resting back against the barstool, "I don't need a babysitter."

"Benson," he countered, an eyebrow twitching as he struggled to keep the amusement from his face, "I wasn't aware that I was one."

Olivia contemplated him for a second, and then she was shrugging nonchalantly, tearing her eyes from his as she reached for her glass. She watched in the mirror behind the row of liquor bottles as the District Attorney moved around the barstool and slid into the seat next to her, tossing his jacket over the back as he moved.

"Of all the bars in Manhattan," she said to his distant reflection, "You happen to walk into this one?"

" _Una maravillosa coincidencia_ ," he said as he waved down the bartender, Sean, pointed to Olivia's glass and held up two fingers. "What are we drinking?"

"Bowmore, 25."

"Ah," Barba said with a hint of a smile, "I wish I could be surprised by your exquisite taste, Sergeant, but there is little that can surprise me these days."

"New York will do that to you," Olivia replied as she watched Sean pour another two perfectly measured shots into separate clean glasses. She took hers before he could add the ice, shaking her head slightly, just enough for him to notice.

" _Special Victims_ will do that to you,! Barba amended, taking his own drink once two cubes had been added. "One thing I can admire about you, is your strength, Olivia. I don't know how you can be here, after seventeen years, after everything you've been through, and still be so... _whole_."

Olivia laughed without humour, her eyes fixed onto the drink in her hands as she confessed, quietly, "I am not whole, Rafael."

"Is that why you are sitting in a bar at barely noon, drinking expensive scotch, alone?"

"You're drinking too, no?"

"You're avoiding the question."

"If this a cross examination, Barba?"

"No, of course not." The DA shook his head and offered a small smile as he settled against the spine of the tall chair. "But I can see something is bothering you, Liv. I am your friend. I know when something is wrong."

"I'm fine."

"No. You're not."

Olivia took a breath, held Barba's gaze for a few seconds, and then she sighed, defeated, fingers rubbing at her forehead, where pressure began to mount.

"I went looking for someone – an old...friend – and I found him, but I'm not entirely sure that I wanted to. I think I may end up regretting it," Olivia said, before adding, "I now understand how ignorance can be bliss."

"Oh."

"Is that it?" she scoffed, eyes crinkling, her face softening. "I confide in you, and all you can say is 'oh'?"

"I'm not a therapist, Olivia," Barba defended, fingers playing with the tip of his red, silk tie.

"I wasn't looking for a therapist," she retorted, before tossing back the shot of warmth, the fire dimming almost immediately after she swallowed, "Just a friend."

"You're right, I'm sorry," Barba apologised, shifting a little to reach forward so he could slide his drink over the chipped wood of the bar, toward Olivia. She glanced at it, but shook her head no, declining the offer. "Please, continue. Tell me everything."

"I don't think there's much more to tell," Olivia said, straightening her spine, stretching from side to side as she tried to relieve sore muscles. "It is what it is, I suppose."

"There's _always_ more," Barba argued. "The one thing that I have learned since moving to Manhattan, working with your unit, is that there is always something more to say, always something left out."

"You're right," Olivia nodded, "And you're wrong. You may think that you have only learned one thing, but I for one can bear witness to the change from the man that you once were, to the man that you have become."

Barba shook his head, picked up the drink he had offered away, took a sip and then stared at it for a moment, in silence, as if he was pondering it, or something.

"Be the change you want to see in the world."

"I never pegged you as a Ghandi man," Olivia teased gently, an attempt to lighten the heavy atmosphere.

Barba met her gaze, smirking. "I never pegged you as a scotch girl."

"Well then," Olivia said, her mouth spreading into a grin, "We both know each other a little better."

"Tutuola said you'd taken a personal day. I don't know much about parenting, but I'm guessing you would much rather be at home, with your son, than sitting here with me," Barba said, grabbing for his jacket to search the pockets. He pulled the Italian leather wallet from the interior, pulled out four fifty's, and slapped them on the bar.

"No, I've got this," Olivia insisted, attempting to slide the cash back toward Barba, but he placed his hand on top of hers, squeezing gently.

"Let me," he said. "Go. Be with your family."

She held his gaze, a silent challenge for him to give in, to stop being so chivalrous and to let her pay for their drinks – or at least her own – but it was a futile attempt when she was up against a hard headed prosecutor, so she gave in. Just this once.

"Okay," she breathed, sliding from the stool, "Thank you."

Barba nodded, his eyes softening as he regarded Olivia, a friendly smile tugging at his mouth. "And Liv, don't regret anything. It is what it is."

Olivia nodded, leaned forward to peck Barba on the cheek as a goodbye gesture, before unhooking her blazer from the stool and moving toward the exit. "One more thing," he called after her, from his spot at the bar. She half turned, throwing a glance over her shoulder. "Take a cab; I don't want to be representing you on a DUI charge."

Olivia laughed, shaking her head, before she pulled open the door and stepped out into the chilly Fall air.


End file.
